


The Velvet Night

by amazulo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, BDSM, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, just pure unrepentant smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazulo/pseuds/amazulo
Summary: Lance McClain and Keith are students at Ingram boarding school, located somewhere in the honeyed American south. This was supposed to have a storyline but it turned into smut and I can't say I'm sorry--a more accurate summary might be "two boarding school boys, every kink in the dictionary, and good aesthetic writing."





	1. Chapter One

Keith noticed him as soon as he drifted into Chemistry, a few minutes too late, firing off an excuse to the teacher that elicited a slight smile instead of the typical reprimand. There was some magnetic energy to him--a vibrancy, a resonance--that Keith couldn’t help but find alluring. He was dressed lazily in blue, and alternated between a bored detachment from class to a startling intensity of focus.

When Keith asked one of the people around him--a girl, from the year below him--her eyes got wide. “Lance, you mean?”

“McClain the Clown,” her friend said, repressing a smirk.

“He’s, like, a little weird. He sleeps around, but…” she makes an indecipherable gesture. “You know.”

“Uh, right.” Keith swiveled around in his seat and glanced again--shock of dark hair, pointed face, an energy like his body was constantly smoldering with some low level fire.

Lance.

***

He returned to his dorm not half an hour later and collapsed on the bed, springs creaking. Pidge, hearing the noise, glanced up from their desk and popped an earbud out. “What is it?" 

“Do you know about a guy named Lance?” Keith said, trying to sound uninterested. “I don’t know a last name, just Lance.” 

They blinked. “New kid? Tries to overcompensate, dresses like an athlete but weighs less than me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He’s in my Physics class,” they said, carefully. “Why?”

Keith stared at the ceiling, trying to sort out an acceptable answer. He wasn’t exactly sure himself what the fascination was--he’d been infatuated before, of course, but this was a little different from that. It wasn’t just pure attraction--at least, not entirely. “Just wondering. No one else seems to like him much, but he seems so magnetic to me.”

 Pidge shrugged. “Jealous, maybe?”

     Keith glanced over, frowning.

“Easy.” Pidge smirked. “I’m not going to steal him from you.”

Keith bit back a response as his face grew hot. It was ridiculous--he spent an hour staring at the back of his head and listening to him talk about being the “powerhouse of this cell!” because get it, the Academy was like a jail and also something about mitochondria. Pidge had resumed working, with a methodical pace that seemed fake--they ran through the problem set of calculus work one by one, a constant rhythm of motion, never stopping to wrestle with a concept or a formula or anything. It didn’t really bother Keith--he was competitive, and ranked well in applied classes--but there was something strangely enviable about having such grace with the routine work of the Academy. Of course, Pidge never used the time to just lie around, which was part of it. Keith wasn’t a fan of that either--it’s why they were paired together, back during freshman assignments--“Workaholics--keep away from healthy students.”

Keith wandered the campus later that night--it was late August, and he was glad to be back, despite the past few years. The trees--cicada and willow and spindly oak--swayed lightly in the hot breeze. Days died slowly here, with the heat of harsh noon suns lasting long into the night. You could wander out past midnight and still feel the static heat on your skin, still feel the buzzing energy of light in your bones. He looked up and breathed in the sky--dark and gusting and impossibly large, speckled with stars. It all seemed too much to bear. This would be the fourth year, and he’d spent the others doing what?

He walked further, following the road, the heat of the asphalt soaking through his shoes. Overhead, the sound of birds flying softly--or were they bats? He didn’t know. Everything could be so overwhelming, despite how much he tried to stay calm--one minute he was balanced and the next he wanted to scream. One minute he was optimistic and ambitious, the next he was ready to throw it all away for a minute’s peace.

The moon rose overhead, slowly, and he watched it go, lying on his back in the thin forest grass. The world hummed on without him, and he watched it go.

Lance.

Lance.

Lance.

***

The next morning, he woke up early to run before the showers got overcrowded. He laced his shoes, changed into shorts, and headed for the track. It was ancient, cracking, and in need of serious repairs. For the time being, though, it would have to do--he liked the powerful feeling of sprinting too much to give it up. Step after step after step, lunging faster than his breath, muscles burning. The sun rose as he went, sweat clinging to his temples, lungs heaving with the effort.

“You’re up early,” said a voice.

Keith startled, placed a foot wrong, and went crashing to the ground. His wrist pulsed with pain, and there was a sharp, bright feeling in his leg that felt like a cut. He looked up to see Lance, slightly taken aback, leaning against the cyclone fencing that surrounded the track. “I didn’t mean it,” he started, as Keith stood, wincing in pain. “Dude, you’re fucking insane.”

“It’s good for thinking,” Keith said, moving his wrist gently.

“How can you think, when you’re--” Lance mimicked the deep breathing that was necessary during duration sprints. “You know?”

“It keeps me from getting distracted, I guess?” The morning was cool, and goosebumps prickled on Keith’s legs. He hadn't been counting on an audience and felt just the slightest bit underdressed. His shirt stuck to his body and he could see Lance staring at him--a top to bottom glance that lingered like he wanted Keith to notice. He swallowed hard and grabbed his water bottle. He’d cut the exercise short today and spend some time studying--APUSH was getting ahead of him and Pidge was refusing to help him with anything. It’d be worth the sacrificed time on the track.

Somewhat to his surprise, Lance fell into step next him as he turned to walk back towards the school. “So, Pidge said you thought I was ‘magnetic,’” Lance said, and Keith groaned. “Don’t feel bad,” Lance continued, “no one can ever resist me for long.”

“I meant your personality,” Keith muttered.

“What a romantic!”

Lance rattled on for most of the way--he overflowed with words and stories and observations about the world. Keith felt an overwhelming desire to capture it--to press their mouths together and know that the silence was a gift, that it was coursing through him. 

But he didn’t, and when he returned to his room--showered, hair cold against his neck--the fantasy of it kept his knees pressed to his chest.

Lance. Who knew someone could be so much like the light? So warm, so enthralling--Keith felt like he could bask in the simple idea of him--fragile and foaming with energy.

Lance.

Lance.

Lance.

***

A few days later, as temperatures soared into the 90s and the sun burned overhead like a furious white eye, the central air conditioning at Ingram failed. The minute the fans stopped a deathly stillness fell across the campus--a few hundred students blinking with surprise as sweat beaded on their heads. Pidge knocked on the top of the grating next to Keith’s bed and looked up in horror.

“Yeah, no vibrations. It’s gone. Fuck .”

Keith stood up, too-short tee shirt stopping just above his navel. It was small on purpose; any extra clothing was unthinkable. “I’m going to ask Lance,” he said, heading for the door. “Maybe it’s just us.”

Lance had a single room across campus, in Anderson, the newest dorm. Only a handful of students were placed to live there, and it was a source of agony among the other students that a transfer had gotten one of them before anyone else. Lance, frustratingly, did nothing but brag about it (“Hey, I can’t help that even the administration loves me!”).

Two fencing students were sparring lazily on the front lawn, the heat making their movements slow and sleepy. A girl watched from the shade of a willow tree, white hair knotted atop her head. Her sunglasses reflected violet light back at Keith and he tried not to stare--he really should know everyone, at this point, especially someone as interesting as she looked.

He was still wondering about the violet light when Lance opened the door to his dorm, wearing only a low cut pair of blue boxers that only pretended to be covering anything.

“Um, the ACs broken at the other dorms too,” Keith said, hoping his face wasn’t red. “It’s great, right?”

“Oh,” Lance said, glancing down and then back to Keith’s face. “No, the AC is fine here. I’m just wearing these because they look great on me.”

“Wait, what? Everything’s broken at the other residency." 

“Yah,” Lance said, smirking. “It pays to shell out a little extra for the quality dorm.” 

“We’re all on scholarship, Lance.”

He blinked. “Right, yeah. But, uh, we here are trying to keep this,” he leaned in, “ quiet. So if you leave, you can’t tell anyone about it.”

Keith considered the proposal for a moment, and then considered the sweat already running into his eyes. After a quick mental apology to Pidge, he stepped past Lance and into the room.

The past week or so had been a bit disorienting, because Lance was the kind of person who grafted into your life without so much as a sound. Pidge made fun of it endlessly, but they were spending an agreeable amount of time together--time that Keith spent absorbing as many life details as possible. It was a substitute for genuine affection--he memorized Lance’s stupid jokes and mannerisms because what he really wanted was (it seemed) heterosexually out of his reach. He did wonder sometimes, though, which kept the fire of hope burning. Maybe, someday. Maybe.

Lance’s room was sparse but slowly being taken over by things--clothes on the floor, unopened books spilling by the bed, plates and smuggled utensils from the dining hall. “It’s pretty rich of you to make fun of these,” Lance gestured at the boxers, “when you’re rocking the valley girl look. Some would even call it flat out hypocritical.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Look, it’s hot and I don’t have any other choice. Besides, you’re practically naked. It’s not the same thing.”

Lance shrugged. “Look, I’m hot, and I don’t have any other choice.”

Keith tried not to laugh even as he self consciously tugged the shirt down. “Right.”

The room really was deliciously cold, though, and Keith could feel the relief that came with a normal body temperature. He pushed a stack of Lance’s things off of a chair and sat on it, leaning so he could trail a hand over the cool air vent. Through the window, he noticed that the fencers and their white-haired observer had left the lawn--finally driven out by the sun, it seemed. Even the cicadas had gone quiet, and the only motion was that of heat waves rising from the blacktop.

“Do you think Mr. Martinez will notice if I miss advanced Spanish?” Lance said, from where he was dozing on the bed. “I’m not feeling brave enough for the journey.”

“Don’t--like, don’t you already speak Spanish?” Keith said.

Lance grinned. “Mm, well, not as far as the school knows. My accent is perfect , though. I tell him I had a lot of practice.”

“Right. No, I don’t think they’ll notice, and you can scam your way out if they do.”

Lance’s smile grew wider. “Excellent. I really can--you’ve noticed how good I am at it, then?”

“...Yes.”

***

The day ticked away, and Keith tried to spend as much of it on homework as he could. By the time curfew rolled around there was still no news of a fix at the other dormitories and Keith could only shudder at the thought of returning to lie awake, limbs heavy with heat, wishing he was dead. Lance, after the characteristic blustering (“I’ll tell the girls I’m busy tonight, but only for you, dude”) was fine with it.

Pidge, on the other hand, was molten.

**Pidge: i will end your life, keith**

    **Pidge: when i recover my energy,,,I will drain the life from your lying, scamming body**

“Ouch,” said Lance, glancing at one of the texts. “We’ll apologize to them when this is all fixed, okay? They’ll understand.”

Anderson Residence Hall had to share a communal shower with the other residence halls, which was irritating but worth it for the single rooms. Keith borrowed a towel and headed across the campus with Lance. Inside, he chose a faucet and thanked God for the curtains that had been installed for a wispy sense of privacy. He showered as quickly as possible, trying not to think about the faint teal plastic that was the only thing separating him from Lance McClain. His face flamed. The water pulsed--hot now, steam curling along the cool tile floor. Lance was mumbling to himself in Spanish and English both, a song, perhaps. Keith faced the water and closed his eyes, feeling the monotonous calm of the droplets. 

The door opened, and someone padded in--running almost--and then the door was banging shut. Keith’s stomach sank. 

“What the hell,” Lance said, snapping the water off. Keith heard his shower curtain slide open and then, a few dreadful seconds later--“Those assholes . Who the hell does this? _Mierda_. ”

Keith swallowed hard. “Is it--” 

“They took our shit.” Keith heard Lance’s curtain slide back shut. “The towels too. You don’t happen to have a towel in there, do you?”

“No.”

“ _Fuck_.”  

Keith leaned against the wall, flickering between anger and embarrassment. If Lance hadn’t been such a complete ass to everyone on campus, no one would have tried to pull something like this. Keith had been here since freshman year and he’d never been anything worse than ignored.

“What are we going to do?” he said, trying not to sound unnatural. There was this tense feeling of inevitability within him--there were no ways out of this, only minutes until it happened.

“My phone is in the room,” Lance said.

“Same.”

Lance sighed, quick and angry. “I’m not letting them win with some stupid middle school prank. Alright?”

“We don’t really have any options,” Keith said, trying not to let the panic overwhelm him. It was more fear than anger, now--he could deal with anger, but fear erased everything.

“Hmm.” Keith could hear Lance pacing in the tiny square shower. “When do the lights go off in this hall?”

“Eleven thirty, I think? We were cutting it close anyway, so it can’t be long.”

There was a beat of silence. Lance took a breath. “Alright, listen. We wait for the lights to go off--it’s going to be ten minutes, tops. We go out the left door, it’s closer to the exit. Head for the trees.”

“Oh my God--”

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want to get caught sprinting across campus with your dick out?”

“Not at all!”

“Then this is what we’ve got, dude. Sink or swim.”

Everything was going to be fine, Keith told himself, arms crossed over his chest. It was a five second lunge from the bathroom door to the exit, and then just a few steps to the grove of willows that bordered these buildings. Everything was going to be fine.

The lights clicked off outside with a perceptible noise and Lance was already running, the bathroom door open like a portal, harsh white fluorescent light pooling into the hallway lit only with emergency strips. Keith shoved his way out of the shower and slipped through the door before it shut, arms pumping, feet skidding on the grass. It had started to rain--everything was slick and his heart rattled around in his chest every time it felt like he was going to lose his footing.

There was a shout behind him, from the upper floor where most of the dorms were--“hit record , dumbass!”--and then he was in the blessed shade of the trees, their bows snapping against his thighs, ostrich ferns curling up around his toes. He paused for a moment to orient himself and saw Lance drift up from the side.

“Eyes at shoulder height,” he said, quickly.

“Obviously .”

They peered through the trees--it was darker than Keith had expected, but his eyes were adjusting. The rain beat a light rhythm on his back. They followed the tree line for some distance, making their way towards the vaguely glowing building that they assumed (hoped? prayed?) was Anderson Hall.

There was some insane energy twisting through Keith’s veins--this was so incredibly stupid, so incredibly juvenile, so incredibly thrilling. It was the adrenaline, he assumed, and the angry pride of success. He could see only shadows--Lance’s head, his shoulder, the vague suggestion of his hips--and they moved like that through the trees until, rain intensifying, they were standing outside of Anderson. Lance’s window was on the bottom floor, thank God, and the window slid open after a few heart stopping pulls.

Lance pulled himself in--the light of the room illuminating him for a second--and Keith followed soon behind. Lance had thrown on a pair of shorts and was drying him chest with a discarded tee shirt when Keith realized, with slight horror, that the only clothes he’d brought were in the hands of whatever asshole Junior was behind this ordeal. Lance noticed Keith covering himself, scarlet faced, and arrived at the same conclusion a minute later.

“Rigggght, that wouldmake sense. Okay.”

Keith was speechless. 

“I mean, what are we going to do now?” He tugged the tee shirt on and studied Keith, his eyes lingering a few seconds too long. “You look so adorable when you’re not so sure of yourself,” he said, lingering on the words. Keith, for all the exhaustion of the moment, felt a tug in his groin. 

“Kidding!” Lance said, tossing him a pair of blue shorts from where they were lying on the bed. “Wear these. We’re close to the same size.” Lance shaded his eyes while Keith, face absolutely glowing, slipped into them.

Later, Keith slept--in the chair, head lolling against the windowsill, listening to the rain. Looking back, this was undoubtedly where it began. Relationships thrived in shared experience, and this was their first. Both of them, crashing into an intimate familiarity that normally took months--or years. Both of them, in the dark, thrilled and terrified. United against a common enemy, striving towards a common cause. 

At the time however, all he knew was the radiance of infatuation.

Lance McClain, dozing in the dark next to him.

If not him, then who? 

Lance McClain, the brilliant light of his life. 

     If not him, then who?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys are absolutely shameless and also look at the stars.

Hunk was not impressed. “ That mess?” he said, when Keith pointed out a sleepy, sweatshirt wearing Lance at breakfast a few mornings later. “I don’t know, Keith.”

“Same, buddy,” Pidge said, head inclined over their laptop. “Keith only likes him because he’s shameless.”

“That’s not true.”

“Have you seen his dick yet?”

Keith’s face flushed. “Look, I told you about that--”

Pidge looked at Hunk and raised their eyes. “See, what did I say? Shameless.”

Keith studied Lance from where he sat, a few tables away. Maybe they were right--he did seem to be overflowing with confidence, most of the time. Even when sprinting from the showers he’d scarcely complained--it was everything, all at once, life lived with a hedonistic laziness. Keith loved that, though. It was so different from everything he’d come to be while at the Academy--Lance was fire in a darkened room. Vodka curling inside thin punch. There was something thrilling and self destructively shocking about it--he’d be ruined, but God what a glorious ruination it would be.

“You’re practically drooling,” Pidge said, voice pinched. “It’s gross. I used to respect you.”

“Well, love is--” Hunk started.

“--Irritating,” Pidge finished. “Making my friend into a moron. Keeping him from making rational choices.”

Keith glanced at Lance, fixated on the way he ate an apple--gently, eyes fixed in the distance.

“I told you,” Pidge said, rolling their eyes and turning back to the computer. “Idiot.”

***

That night, he was left alone. Pidge was pulling a work marathon somewhere else in the building--Keith was used to it at this point. They never seemed to sleep, save for a few short naps during the day.

The most important factor, though, was that he had the room to himself. Almost inevitably, his thoughts turned to Lance. The room was lit softly, light filtering in gently from a lamp on Keith’s desk. He resisted for a second and then, giving in, grabbed the shirt he’d borrowed from Lance and pressed it to his face.

This was pathetic.

It crashed over him like it always did, when he was alone with his thoughts. They were of Lance, in a hundred different ways--face flushed, moaning, shivering; pressed against the mattress, the walls, Keith’s exposed stomach. His breath roughened, and he could feel the uncomfortable pressure of his cock against the inside of his jeans. He pressed his fingertips against it, feeling that first twinge of pleasure, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. The darkness seemed to swell in the room and he was alone with the heat of his fantasy. He unzipped with one hand, Lance’s shirt clenched in the other, and teased himself through the fabric of his underwear.

The idea of Lance, on his knees, hands on Keith’s thighs. The feeling of his hair in Keith’s hands, the gentle shock of his mouth on Keith’s cock, the hunger of it all--insatiable, dark, all consuming. Desire pooled like fire in his stomach.

The idea of Lance, too breathless to make a stupid joke, the sharp salt taste of him on Keith’s lips, feeling him shake when Keith ran a thumb over his cock--too sensitive to handle; too sensitive to resist. 

     The idea of Lance, kissing him hard in one of the showers, bodies pressed together, the water drumming ceaselessly around them, cold tiles on his back. The first delicious, vulnerable flinch when Keith reached down to grab him, to feel him hard.

Keith let out a long breath, jutting his hips out. The shirt was still clenched in one hand, white knuckled. He shifted into a rhythm and, chest heaving, came in a series ofjets on his stomach. For a minute, he paused, his breathing heavy, lazily running a hand down the inside of his thighs. He cleaned himself up, then, and tried not to think about the discomfiting reality that was his desire to fuck Lance McClain. Or, of course, the other way around. He felt saliva build in his mouth at the thought--his cock hanging exposed in the air, Lance’s hands on his head, the feeling of him between his lips...

Keith stood, suddenly feeling as if he was uncomfortably naked, and tugged on a pair of shorts. Had he really just done that? Half out of his mind, shivering, resisting the urge to moan Lance’s name. It seemed eternally embarrassing now and yet two minutes ago he couldn’t have cared less.

Sleep proved elusive that night.

***

The next afternoon, Keith reclined next to Lance, their shoulders brushing. Crackling in front of them was a television Lance had procured from places unknown, hooked up to a game that Lance swore he’d never played before. Keith doubted that, because they’d been playing for nearly an hour and he hadn’t won a round yet.

It was strange, to be around him in a casual context. Lance would talk about a movie or something and all that Keith could focus on were the desperate fantasies of his lonelier nights.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Lance paused the game. “You’ve been out of it for like, a while now.”

He actually looked concerned! Incredible. Keith blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Busy with school, I guess.”

“Bullshit. Are you worried about the shower thing? We pulled it off, so there’s no need to.”

“I mean, kind of…?” Keith’s heart was in his mouth. When he spoke, it was if in the third person--the words vibrated out of his throat and he had no control over them. “And when we got back, too.” He uncrossed his legs and pulled his knees up. “You said I looked, uh--”

“Adorable?” Lance was looking him directly in the face. “I mean, because you are. When you’re not all uptight and proper.”

Oh, fuck. Keith felt his face going pink. “You can imagine how that might be confusing. Like, maybe you’re joking, but it’s hard to tell sometimes?” He laced his fingers and unlaced them. “I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

Lance lay his hand on Keith’s shoulder and turned him slightly, so that they were face to face. His eyes flicked to and away from Keith’s--hesitant, clinging, overflowing. He leaned in and Keith shuddered when Lance carefully kissed the corner of his mouth before moving further, pressing hard, his hand sliding up to the back of Keith’s neck.

“Does that clarify things?” He asked, pulling back to look at Keith.

A moment passed where the only thing Keith knew was that he’d died, and was hallucinating as his brain worked through the last fragments of oxygen in his blood.

Then Lance pressed a palm against Keith’s shoulder and he was lying flat against the floor, Lance’s hips pressed into his. He sighed, an involuntary action, as Lance leaned in to press their lips together. For a squirming second he was embarrassed to be hard, but then he felt Lance against him, even more so. A rush of elation flooded through his limbs-- Lance, too --and he pushed himself up, scattering kisses across Lance’s neck as he went. God, the glory of it. He couldn’t breathe but his chest was molten--red golden ribs, metal collapsing in on itself--and he didn’t care, didn’t notice, didn’t mind.

He traced his fingertips down Lance’s sides and relished the sound of his breathing, rough and catching with every movement. He lingered at the waistband, pressing sharp against the obvious bulge. “Do you mind?” he said, swallowing hard.

Lance nodded, mute, and Keith undid the buttons slowly, tracing his fingertip over the thin black fabric beneath. He slid onto his knees, kissing past the navel until he felt the hot heat of Lance’s erection, mouth watering. Was he really about to do this? There was a major difference between fantasy and reality--but God, didn’t he want to. More than anything.

Lance groaned when Keith slid the briefs off, kissing the tip of the cock that rose gently from where it had been pinned. He traced a hand up Lance’s thigh and gently stroked his balls before doing the same with his mouth.

“Holy fuck,” whispered Lance, sitting back against the bed. “ Holy fuck. ”

It was music. When Keith teased the tip--tongue flicking, lips touching gently--he felt Lance’s shivers in his soul. It was like an instrument he’d been waiting weeks to play--every vibrating string, every shuddering note. There was something painfully organic about it, really--stimulation, bodies twisted together--but it was what he’d always been imagining, this softly wielded power. This ability to, with a few tiny movements, make an arrogant boy moan and writhe and bite his lip.

Lance bucked his hips and Keith pulled back, a thin line of drool extending from his lip to the tip of Lance’s cock. He swiped it away and shuddered as Lance pulled him to his feet, closing his hand around Keith’s own cock. “What are we--”

“I’d like to return the favor,” Lance said, blushing a little. “Like, uh, you know.”

“Oh.”

Lance paused a second longer, and then--not meeting Keith’s eyes--said, “Don’t be nice about it.”

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said, but the way his cock strained against Lance’s fingers betrayed his true feelings. Carefully, he pressed on Lance’s shoulders and pressed him to his knees. Then, lacing his fingers in Lance’s hair, Keith pressed the precum-covered tip of his cock against Lance’s lips. “Open,” he said, his voice lower than he thought. “Now.”

Lance shuddered, leaning into it, his tongue hesitant at first and then probing, prodding, twisting around the hypersensitive edge of Keith’s tip. His hands rested on Keith’s ass, fingertips pressing.

Keith, nervous excitement thrilling in his chest, pressed harder on the back of Lance’s head and felt his cock bump the back of his throat, the muscles closing around it and then relaxing. He pulled out and then pushed back in, a rhythm developing, Lance moaning through closed lips. Keith, as Lance lapped deliriously at his tip, felt a tense coiling in his balls--”I’m close,” he said, and Lance slid back, face upturned, eyes wide.

“On my face.”

Keith dropped a hand to his cock and stroked quickly, feeling the tight mechanism of release and then the bursting sun--a brief white moment without sound or sight--and then there was Lance, kneeling, cum on his lips and striped across his face. “You, now,” he said, voice low. Lance pulled Keith over, guided his head back between his legs. Keith knelt, leaning low over Lance’s groin, ass exposed in the air. When Lance came--a silent cry, a hot burst of bitter cum on Keith’s tongue--the moment cracked apart slowly.

First came sound--the low hum of the air conditioner, the ragged panting of both boys. Light was next--soft, filtering in through the window blinds, hazy and golden. Keith became aware of himself last--naked, Lance’s hand toying with the hair that rand from navel to groin. “I had no idea,” he said, on the brink of laughter, “that you’d be into this.”

Lance, head lolling against Keith’s neck, murmured something too quiet to hear before kissing, slowly, the top of Keith’s collarbone. “Stay here tonight,” he said, quietly, somehow more ashamed of the casual affection than he was of choking on Keith’s cock. “Please?”

Keith nodded, hand resting on Lance’s stomach. “If you don’t mind sharing the bed.”

*** 

Keith lay awake long after Lance had drifted into sleep. His back was pressed against the cold cinderblock wall of the dorm but Lance nestled against him in the front, the shake of his breathing soft against Keith’s stomach. Central air conditioning hummed in the darkness--a backdrop for thought, thin and ethereal. Keith could get lost in that low, white noise--the sound of dark rooms, quiet moments, and anonymous pleasure.

Every time Lance shifted against him--moving his arm, pressing his ass against Keith’s groin, kicking a leg restlessly--Keith was reminded of how strange and miraculous this was. Maybe you could get used to it, eventually, but not so soon. The hazy afterglow curled in the front of his mind like pastel smoke-- Lance . There was something so fascinating about him, no--look at the noises he could make! The ways he could twist in happiness! It was a hidden second layer, sweeter than the first.

How many months until graduation? Less than nine, probably less than eight. Keith pressed his face to Lance’s hair; he didn’t want to think about it. How tragic, for this ecstasy to have come so late in his youth. How cruel, for the fates to give him happiness just before it all had to break.

Lance sighed softly in his sleep and Keith’s heart broke all over again.

Just being around him was an impossible experience.

***

The next morning, Keith awoke early and showered: freezing water, harsh soap. It was a ceremonial shedding of yesterday; he wasn’t going to be distracted by the red mist of lust anymore--well, not for a while at least.

When he returned to Lance’s dorm, letting him in with a borrowed keycard, the boy was just waking up--blinking lazily in the rising sunlight, stretching shirtless on the bed. “Morning,” he mumbled, resting a hand on his stomach. “You know what I could really go for…”

“No,” Keith said, cock twinging. “No. We’re going to be productive today.”

“Mmm. Productive here, where it’s fun. Where I’ll make you cum three times before noon.”

Keith turned his face so Lance wouldn’t see the tinge of red spreading across his cheeks. “Or, you could wake up and not be a slug. Either one.”

“ Ughhhhh.”

Keith pulled the blinds open despite Lance’s protests and grabbed his bag from where he’d left it the other day--it was strange to think that he’d come over with the completely honest intention of studying. Not that he was complaining about where things had ended up, of course.

“Which do you think?” Lance said, and when Keith turned around he was holding two near-identical pairs of briefs, completely naked in the morning sun.

“Don’t be lewd,” Keith said.

“Which one, though?”

“Blue, I guess. Jesus.”

It was Sunday. The school always slowed to a crawl on Sunday--everyone inside nursing hangovers or rushing to complete homework that they’d neglected for the past few days. When they walked across campus it seemed half dead--a few bees in the grass, a few cicadas in the trees--and every academic building was dusty and thick with the glow of nostalgic sunlight. “Alright, class,” Lance said, folding his arms at the podium like their Western History teacher did. “Today we’re going to be discussing,” he glanced at the lesson plan poster hanging on one wall, “the Greeks. And their, uh, accomplishments.”

“I can barely tell it’s not him,” Keith said, dryly.

They lingered in the Humanities building, drifting between classrooms as the day waxed on, safe in the pine smelling ancient rooms. These were places where time stopped--two hundred years could have passed and there would be scarcely a flickering change of color. Everything here was, as much as humans could manage, immortal.

“Do you want to do something, tonight?” Lance said, as they walked from the building to the forest that bordered the school. “I mean, platonically. In a normal sense.”

“I mean, what are you thinking?”

“I want to see the stars.”

Keith stared. “The stars?”

“Yeah.” Lance jutted his chin slightly higher. “I want you to take me somewhere to look at the stars and, like, talk. Or something.”

“Right. Because you just love the stars.”

“I do!” Lance protested. “I’m pretty sure everyone does, to be honest. If you don’t, you’re the odd one.”

Later that day, as the sky was going orange like a melted roll of camera film, Keith slid into the passenger’s seat of Lance’s car and they followed the road north--up the hills that the Academy was nestled within. The air--just on the cusp of too cold to enjoy--crackled around the edges of Keith’s eyes when Lance rolled down the windows. It smelled like he imagined that space would; ozone and water and the faint tang of rust.

As they climbed, making turn after sloping turn, Lance hummed along to the radio. Keith leaned back, closed his eyes, and woke ten minutes later when Lance pressed a hand over his heart to wake him back up.

“You fell asleep on our date, ass” he said, pressing harder.

Keith sat up, embarrassed and yawning. “I had a late night. And what was it, five minutes?”

“Ten.”

They wandered over to the edge, Lance leaning against Keith, his body heat a subtle flame against the impossible gusting oblivion that was a September night. Kance sat, legs dangling over the edge, and Lance lay his head on Keith’s lap.

The moon--that blank, calm eye--was descending to make way for morning when they finally stood and staggered back to the car, weak legged and stunned by the brilliance of the world. Keith drove, no music now. The Academy campus was dark, and they leaned on each other while walking back to the dorm.

They slept tangled together that night, awash in light from the early dawn sun.


	3. Chapter Three

It had been nearly two months. October had come and gone, with wind that nipped at the back of Keith’s neck when he stepped outside. He increasingly spent the days indoors, drowsing comfortably with Lance or working methodically through his admittedly light workload of homework.

On the commons lawn, Keith could see a handful of students lighting off fireworks—blue and silver sparks, orange flakes of ash. Their noise rattled in his chest, a secure sound—it felt powerful. There was something incredibly thrilling about being able to hear the noise and associate it with strength instead of fear. A yellow flower of fire blossomed in the sky and Lance let out an appreciative noise when the windows rattled with the sound.

“Thank God they legalized the cool shit, right?” he said, flicking through to a new channel on the television. “It’s practically light artillery.”

“If they start a fire, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Lance waved it off. “I mean, have they ever before? Everything will be fine.”

Keith picked through the bags Lance left piled at the door—it was Thanksgiving Holiday, and although most of the students chose to remain on campus the dining halls were shut down. Cookies, an assortment of useless vegetables (one carrot, one turnip, one yam, etc), two cartons of orange juice, and a bottle of cherry Schnapps that knocked cold against his hand. When he held it up in silent question, Lance grinned.

“I know, right? They didn’t even try to card me.”

“You’re unbearable.”

Nonetheless, Keith twisted the flimsy metal cap off and folded himself onto the couch next to Lance. They had glasses, but he wanted the aesthetic—drinking from the same bottle, hands hot and clumsy in the dim twilight. Lance took a quick pull and tried to mask the way his mouth twisted at the sensation.

It was just over an hour later, not drunk but definitely feeling better, when Lance brought it up. Keith had been playing with his hair—repetitive motions, soothing—and then Lance sat up, muscles tense.

“I’ve wanted, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while,” he said.

Keith felt a faint thrill of anxiety welling up inside him but it was masked by the alcohol. “Mmhm?”

“Sometimes—well, no, a lot of times—I want something different from you.” Lance paused a second and then after glancing at Keith’s face hurried to correct himself. “Not that you’re doing anything wrong, of course!” His face flushed. “But sometimes I think that it would be pretty fucking hot for you to, like, take control.” Lance’s knuckles were clenched. “Order me around, punish me—you know.”

Keith’s cock pulsed at the thought, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Is that too much?” Lance said, the faint scent of cherry on his breath. “Fuck, it’s too much—I’m sorry, I—”

Keith made his decision and, despite his reservations, felt a faint thrilling undercurrent to the moment. “Get up,” he said. “Stand in the middle of the room for me.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Oh. Okay.”

Keith unfolded himself from where he was sitting on the couch and walked up in front of Lance. With painstaking care, he began undoing the buttons on Lance’s shirt. The other boy’s skin prickled at his touch, and Keith made sure to graze every potentially sensitive area he could. The loud heat of lust roaring in his ears, he then knelt and began to undo Lance’s jeans—first the button, then the zipper. He pulled themoff and took a minute to stare, eyes lingering on the bulge of Lance’s cock.

“I think I’ve been waiting for this, too,” he said, and Lance shuddered. “A chance to put you in your place.” He swung his hand quickly, snapping it against Lance’s boxer-covered ass. The boy took in a sharp breath and, entirely out of instinct, shielded himself from another strike with his hands.

“Wait—”

Keith stepped back, and Lance sighed heavily. “Well, this isn’t going to work,” Keith said, his voice low. Lance’s tie lay discarded with his shirt, and Keith picked it up, undoing the knot with a series of quick motions. “You’ve got to take what’s coming to you.” Gently, he took Lance’s wrists and bound them together behind his back. Then, without so much as a sound, he hit him again.

“Fuck,” Lance hissed. His teeth were clenched.

     Keith repeated the motion a few more times, noting with pleasure the way that Lance’s legs were shaking, and the way that his arms tensed in anticipation of Keith’s hand. He teased his hands over the waistband of Lance’s boxers and then drew the back them down, exposing the boy’s ass to the cool outside air. “Ready?” he said, maliciously, and then began a series of sharp smacks.

It didn't take long for Lance to choke out a desperate “Keith, please,” and Keith nearly came then and there. Lance, ass red and sweat beading at his temples, let out a low whine but remained standing, trembling, breath coming hard and fast.

“You’re being such a good boy for me,” Keith said, running his hand over the reddened surface of Lance’s ass. There was something so exhilarating about this reversal—Lance, arrogant and graceful, completely giving up control to Kieth. He leaned in and kissed him, gently, running a hand through his hair. “We’re not even close to being done, though.” Lance drew in a sharp breath.

Keith settled himself on one of the chairs in the room and pulled Lance over. “I’m not going to let up this time,” he said, and Lance swallowed hard. Keith pulled him down over his legs, Lance’s bare ass pointing up, exposed.

Lance braced his palms against the floor, his heart hammering away in his chest. His cock pressed hard against Keith’s left leg, and when the first smack came Lance let out a low groan. The stinging pain radiated throughout him and just as it was starting to fade, Keith smacked him again.

He gritted his teeth, muscles clenched, and Keith continued. The urge to writhe away was almost unbearable—he needed to twist away, needed to protect himself—but When the next smack came he gasped, knuckles white, and nearly screamed. “Keith, oh my God, Keith please stop—“

Keith continued, though, and Lance gave himself up to the white hot feeling—sharp, constant, unending. When Keith finally stopped Lance’s ass was brilliant red, and tears trailed from his eyes in an unbroken stream.

Keith pulled Lance to his feet, trembling, and carefully pulled Lance’s boxers down in the front, freeing his cock. “How could you have been begging me to stop when you were this hard?” Keith said, teasing his thumb over Lance’s tip. “There’s so much more I can do to you,” he said, carefully.

“Oh, God, please—“

Keith pressed Lance down into the chair. “Wait here.”

Keith stepped past him and Lance breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. What the hell was Keith planning? His cock lay against the chair, and Lance felt a strange heat spreading across his face—he was embarrassed. It seemed stupid, because he’d just been bent over Keith’s knee, begging him, but he was. It was a different, more visceral sort of vulnerability.

“Let’s make a bet,” Keith said, when he returned. Lance looked up and saw that his face was pink. “Ten minutes. If I can make you scream, you can’t cum for a week. If you make it the whole way, however, you get to punish me.” Keith clenched his jaw. “Whatever you want. No restrictions.”

Lance closed his eyes. A week was a long fucking time—it would be agony. He thought of Keith, though, breathless and moaning, and nodded. “Yeah. I hope you’re ready,” he said, smirking. “Because I’m—“ He felt a sharp smack against the back of his balls and he choked down a groan, feeling the pain radiate throughout his entire body. Keith kissed him gently on the head. “Same.”

Keith pulled Lance roughly to his feet, his cock swinging heavily in front of him. “Should I start here,” Keith said, smacking Lance on the ass, “or here?” He flicked the underside of Lance’s balls again.

“Do whatever you fuckin’ want,” Lance spit.

Keith paused for a minute. Then he knelt and, hesitantly, wrapped his lips around the end of Lance’s cock.

“What the hell,” Lance breathed, still tense with expectation. Where was the sharp sting of pain? The unbearable coiling fear in this stomach?

Keith pressed his hands gently against Lance’s sides, and as Lance’s breathing deepened Keith’s hands reached further, sparking goosebumps wherever they touched. His tongue flicked across Lance’s tip, a long careful movement that tipped him over the edge. He pulled his head back, arms tense, and came in a series of hot pulses on Keith’s face.

Keith dabbed himself clean with a tissue and then stepped back over to Lance, who was panting. “Looks like I win,” he said, grinning. “Untie me so we can get started.”

A wicked smile broke across Keith’s face. “We’ve got six minutes left. You haven’t won anything.”

A cold sweat broke out across Lance’s neck. “What—“

Keith knelt and grabbed Lance’s cock in one hand, now going soft. “How does this feel?” he said, running his thumb over the tip.

Lance’s head snapped back against the chair and he jutted his hips out, stifling a groan. “Oh, jesus christ. Keith, hold on a second—Keith!“

He teased the tip with his lips, pulling softly, each motion eliciting a frantic twist from Lance. It was deliciously hypersensitive—the tiniest motion sent him into a frenzy, pleading with Keith, breathing frantically. “Holy fuck, I can’t. I can’t.”

Keith pressed a hand to Lance’s chest, feeling the wild heartbeat underneath, and continued. He felt Lance’s legs kick and a low groan rumbled underneath Keith’s hand. He pulled back, a thin line of precum drooling from the end of Lance’s cock, and slowly ran his thumb over the end.

Once. Twice—

“Fuck!” Lance stood up, panting hard, a thin jet of cum shooting from his tip and landing on the side of his thigh. “Fuck. Jesus Christ enough. You win. You fucking win.”

Keith grinned.

Not five seconds later, the timer rang.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sure what to say about this, beside the fact that ive probably discovered some kinks I didnt think I had before. dont let anyone tell you writing isnt fun.

It was day five and Lance was half out of his mind. In the heat of the moment he hadn’t expected this much discomfort, but that was the entire problem. He hadn’t expected to be the one that lost.

Keith didn’t lose a single chance to make it more frustrating than it was already, of course—accidental touches, a lazy afternoon dozing on Lance’s shoulder, surprising him entirely naked in the showers to ask for a towel. Lance wasn’t going to make it these last two days, it was impossible—had _ever_ ever made it this long without a release before?

“Distracted?” Keith said from where he sat, not looking up from his textbook. They were in the library, papers scattered on the table and books open, tagged with sticky notes. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lance said, tugging his shirt down self consciously. “I’m bored, actually.”

“Right.”

“I am! The days seem to pass so slowly—the sun moves like it’s fucking nailed to the sky.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s because you’re waiting for something.” He stood up and sat on the chair next to lance, his hand resting on Lance’s thigh, an infuriating hot touch. “Only two more days.” He brushed a thumb over the hard tip of Lance’s cock, which protruded from the waistband of his grey joggers. “Can you wait that long?”

“No problem,” Lance said, but his teeth were gritted. He wanted to nudge into Keith’s gently teasing hand, wanted to lace his hands in Keith’s hair and make up for the thrilling humiliation of last week. 

Keith had become a near permanent resident of Lance’s dorm entirely by accident—it started with nights over, and then weekends, and then their current arrangement. It was decidedly not good in terms of tidiness (clothes strewn about the room; stacks of books, homework, and notes) but Lance was growing more attached to him by the day. Waking up without that familiar breathing, that sleepy eyed kindness, would be so incredibly strange. 

Keith pushed his hand further, the cool tips of his fingers pressing against the underside of Lance’s cock. He stood, abruptly, adjusting his pants, face flushed red. “If you’re going to do something, _do it_ ,” he hissed, swallowing hard. “Otherwise, hands off.”

Keith fought back a smirk. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to keep myself together during exam week.”

Lance clenched his jaw, then loosened it. “Yes. Exactly.”

Keith waited in the silence for a minute, then said, “You know, my offer still stands.” The faintest color of pink was rising in his cheeks.

“What offer?”

“If you make it the entire time—Friday night, after exams—you can do whatever you want back to me. No restrictions.”

Lance’s heart sped up, and he tried to look unfazed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But if you cum before Friday…” Keith shrugged. “You lose, and I walk away scot-free.”

Lance turned around, smiling. “Of course I’ll take that deal.”

***

 

It was Thursday night, and Keith had apparently realized that, with just over 24 hours to go, he needed to move quickly. Lance had been biding his time for a week, at that point, and was bound to have something terrible in store for him were he to lose.

They walked down to the showers together, as usual, the summer air hot against Keith’s bare shoulders. Lance seemed totally at ease—talking breezily, towel wrapped around his waist—and for the first time Kieth worried that he had gotten used to it. 

He glanced around the locker room—it was late, and there were only a handful of other guys who used this particular shower. Safe enough, he supposed. In a few strides, he crossed the room and flicked on one of the old showers, which were mounted to posts in the middle of the room.

Lance stared. “Dude, what are you doing? No one’s in these stalls.”

That was the point, though. As steam rose in the room, Kieth stripped down and folded his clothes neatly inside one of the lockers. “We don’t have all night,” he said, as Lance stared. 

It was almost impossible for him to do it, to be completely honest. Anyone who walked in would see him standing in the middle of the damn room, entirely naked, soap foaming aroundhis head and navel. The only thing that kept him from rushing for his towel was Lance, who hated it ten times as much. He stood with his hands pressed over his dick, only pulling them away to quickly shampoo his hair or run a bar of soap along his shoulders.

“Hey, lighten up,” he said, swiping water from his eyes. 

“I seriously can’t stand you,” Lance muttered, taking a deep breath before tilting his face to face the faucet. Soap ran down his shoulders, thin white rivulets that curled around his arms and down his thighs. 

Keith moved to stand next to Lance, the floor tile cool against his feet. When Lance opened his eyes, Kieth reached over and gently swatted at his dick. “We’re out in the open, dude, you’ve gotta put this away.”

“Fuck you,” said Lance, breaking into a smile. He reached to return the action and Keith startled, stumbling back. His foot slipped and he went down on his ass, the water running in his eyes, disoriented. There was a noise from the left of the room and he heard Lance swear. Keith stood, glancing around to see what happened, and his vision cleared he saw a guy standing by the door. He looked slightly bemused, shirtless, a shock of white hair visible through the mist. 

“Oh, jesus.”

“Thank God someone else uses these,” the guy said, pushing down his shorts. Keith tried not to stare at the black boxers underneath. “The water pressure is way better.”

“Oh, totally,” Keith said, face burning red. The guy pushed his clothes—boxers now having disappeared as well—into a bag and stepped into the water, looking totally at ease. He was obviously muscled, with an interesting scar on his face and several others elsewhere on his body. He was still breathing heavily—cardio, maybe, or weights—and eased comfortably into the water like a cat in the sunshine.

“I’m Shiro,” he said, glancing over at Keith.

Keith kept his eyes locked on Shiro’s. “Oh, nice. I’m Keith.”

The water rattled against the tile, loud and roaring in his ears. A panicked minute later his hair was free of soap and Keith stepped out of the shower, grabbed his towel, and wrapped it blessedly around his waist. Lance, and all of his things, had vanished.

When he arrived back at the room Lance was draped on the couch, a smug smile fixed on his face. “That really was a brilliant idea, Keith. Just absolutely perfect.”

“Shut up, man.”

Keith pulled on a pair of boxers and settled next to Lance on the couch, his heart still beating fast. They fell asleep there, skin against skin, as the air-conditioning whirred in the background and goosebumps prickled to life on their skin.

 

***

 

Lance turned in his last exam with the soaring soaring feeling of success.

Seven days. 

Seven long, horrible, agonizing days—but here he was, hard as fuck, nothing if not a winner. 

 

***

 

Keith pretended not to know when Lance arrived back at the room, the long night’s possibilities swirling around in his head. They talked about school, about a TV show, about their plans for the weekend. And then, when Keith looked most nervous, Lance brought it up. 

“Today’s the day,” he said, carefully. “And I didn’t lose the game.”

“Fuck.” Keith ran a hand through his hair, face flaming red. 

Lance slid his chair back from the table and patted his knee. “I think some justice is in store, don’t you think?”

Keith swallowed hard, paused for a minute, and then stepped over, his breathing shaky. Lance positioned him gently: his cock pressed against Lance’s left leg, his hands flat against the ground, his elbows resting on Lance’s right leg. Keith’s heartbeat tapped hard and frantic against Lance’s thigh.

In one sharp motion, Lance swung his hand down, smiling when Keith had to stifle a yelp. He could see the appeal of being the one meting out punishment, as Keith clenched his hands and swore constantly under his breath—“fuck, Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking _do this.”_

Lance knew how this felt—the sting, that stomach-twisting fear, the strange heavy sexuality to it all. He also knew that it wasn’t enough to make up for his sleepless week, twisting hard against his sheets, frustrated out of his mind. It wasn’t nearly enough. With a few tugs, he pulled Keith’s jeans down over his hips, exposing his ass to the chilled cold air of the room. “You really didn’t hold back when this was me,” Lance purred. The smack came quick and sharp—Kieth drew in a short breath, fists clenched. “So I don’t intend to hold back now that it’s you.”

The trick was continuation—you could endure quite a few of them, especially when there were pauses. Stings faded. A steady progression of hits didn’t give you time to recover though. The pain magnified, and Keith’s mocking “I can take it” demeanor turned first into a tense silence, and then into quiet desperation. He groaned, low in his throat, trying not to thrash away. Every smack sent his back arching, arms tense, legs kicking out.

Lance stopped suddenly. “Up.” Keith stood, wincing, and Lance led him to the wall, where Keith stood in an “x” shape—hands up against the wall, feet pressed apart, jeans still slung low below his ass. Lance pulled them the rest of the way off, and Keith’s cock swung out to rest between his legs.

Lance walked over to the table and pulled his ruler off of it, letting the plastic slide slowly against the wooden surface. He cracked it against Keith’s ass, and when the boy tensed, against the back of Keith’s balls. The low groan he let out was delicious—back muscles tensed, knees nearly buckling, legs shaking. “ _Goddamn_ , that fucking hurts.”

Lance repeated the motion. “There’s a game I’ve been considering, since you’ve had so much fun with me this past week.” He swung the ruler one last time, savored the yelp, and settled himself back on the chair. “Come over here.”

Keith turned from the chair, clenching his jaw, looking fucked up and angry and beautiful. Lance handed him a bottle of lube, looking haughty. “How much do you think you need?”

Keith swallowed. His hands were warm when he applied it to Lance, and they shook slightly—with fear or lust, Lance didn’t care. The two emotions were so close in that moment he likely couldn’t have distinguished between them anyway. 

Lance positioned Keith over his cock, tip resting lightly against Keith’s opening. “I’m not going to make you do anything except stand there,” he said, calmly.

The first few minutes were uneventful, and Lance started to worry that he’d underestimated Kieth’s stamina. At last, however, he dropped ever so slightly—enough that Lance entered him with a gasp, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s back, who shook with the effort of standing. Legs trembling, breathing rough—god, Lance loved it.

“How long do you think you can go?” Lance said, tracing a circle on Keith’s back. “Inch by inch, minute by minute. Whatever happens is all up to you.”

Keith made it another two minutes with his teeth gritted before, with a cry, he sank halfway. Not twenty seconds later he relaxed and settled down all the way—his ass pressing against Lance’s lap, his chest heaving with frustration. “Good boy,” Lance murmured, reaching around to feel the heat of Keith’s mouth. Fingers pressed against the roof of his mouth, Lance forced Keith to stand.

Two light taps on the back of his knees. Keith leaned over, palms braced against the wall. Lance settled back into him, and pressed hard into the spot that made Keith rest his forehead to the wall, a thin line of drool escaping his mouth. A second time, and then a third. Perfect rhythm—again, and again, and again. In a white burst of sound and noise, he came—a week of repressed lust and anticipation, shuddering from his shoulders down to his feet. When he disentangled himself and began dabbing at himself with a kleenex Keith finally looked around, seeming expectant. 

Lance brushed his hand against Keith’s cock. When he moaned, Lance smiled. 

     “Now I want you to see for yourself how bad those seven days really were.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance and keith go for a wholesome walk through the sand dunes

     The air was thick with heat, even though it had been dark for several hours. Cold white light from the moon; soft sound of the breeze. Lance was working though a stack of last-minute homework at his desk next to the window, eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

     Kieth lay on the bed in a pair of blue and white boxers, a slight sheen of sweat forming at his throat and temples. Lance’s fan was on, but the room remained almost oppressively hot: they’d been there all day, trying to catch up while they still had time. 

     “Are you ready for a break?” he asked Lance, turning his head. “I’m bored.”

     Lance set down his pen and stretched, shirt riding up to expose a slight tanline just below his navel. “Don’t tempt me,” he said.

     “Oh, come on. I don’t have anything to do, and it’s hard to stay … distracted.”

     Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I did it, and you’re going to do it, too.”

     “I didn’t realize how hard it would be — I can’t think about anything else.”

     “There are worse things than not jacking off for a week.”

     “ _Lance.”_

     “Fine.” He closed his notebook and snapped off the light. “We can take a walk, it might be nice to get some fresh air.” Keith fumbled for his jeans at the foot of the bed, but Lance pressed them back down and pulled Keith to his feet. “No need for those, right?” His smirk was unbearable. “It’s dark out.”

 

***

 

     They headed across campus towards the forest, where Inghram maintained a series of running trails. Keith draped his arm around Lance’s neck, and Lance let his rest just above Kieth’s waistband — it was comforting, to have him so close; to know that there was another person perfectly at home pressed against his skin, in that casual closeness.

     “Do you ever worry about, like, where we’re going after this place?” Lance said, when they were some distance back into the trees. “Like, I have _no idea_ how to plan an entire life, but I’m going to have to do it anyway.”

     “Sometimes, yeah,” Keith said. “But I try to focus on just soaking it in — my classes, my hobbies…” he shrugged. “You.”

     “It doesn’t bother you not to have a plan?”

     “Of course it bothers me, on some level,” Keith said. “But I’d rather concentrate on the things that are thrilling and interesting and worthwhile, you know? I like studying, and I like staying up late with you. I like peach wine and doing stupid things even if our classmates can hear it.”

     “Compelling,” Lance said, sliding his hand past Keith’s waistband. 

     There was a faint tinge of nostalgia to their relationship, even though it was just beginning and they had no intention of ending it. It felt fated to end — if not this semester, then when they graduated; if not when they graduated, then after a year in college; if not then, well, who knew when. But the feeling was there, and they both believed it with a queasy sort of conviction: these nights would come to an end, and they would drift apart.

     Maybe that’s why they spent so much time together — studying, sleeping, early morning trips to the gym. If it had to end, they’d make the most of the time they were allowed to have.

     “Want to go all the way to the dunes?” Keith said. “It’ll only be fifteen or twenty minutes from here.”

     Lance yawned, but bumped his shoulder into Keiths. “Of course. Who needs a full night of sleep before class, anyway?”

     They followed the white gravel path until it spilled out at the base of the Huron Dunes — a massive swell of sand, with spindly trees and lake grass clinging to its sides. There was a well defined route to the top, and they followed it up: sweat beading on Lance’s arms, Keith slipping once so that the sand stuck to his chest and his shins. 

     Over the peak, though, you could see the water — a massive well of black ink, it seemed, with the stars reflecting faintly on the waves. It roared with sound, muted by distance: crests collapsing on the beach and receding, the ebb and flow of some massive energy.

     They found a circle of scrub brush and both dropped down beneath it, behind the shelter of leaves. Lance lay his head on Keith’s chest, over his heartbeat, and they waited for a while, while the wind whipped overhead and the trees shook with the violent joy of an impending storm.

     Then Lance turned over, bracing his hands on either side of Keith’s chest. “Hey.”

     “Hey.”

     “If you could be anywhere, right now, where would you be?”

     Keith laughed a little, sliding back to look Lance in the face. “The obvious answer is here, right?”

     “No, I mean, honestly. If it could be anywhere.”

     “California, maybe? Somewhere on the coast, where the trees and the waves are bigger. Where it’s always warm, and we’re never stuck inside because of the snow.”

     “I like the snow,” Lance said. “Sort of.”

     “What about you?”

     Lance considered the question, eyes closed. “New York? Or New Jersey! Somewhere with a boardwalk, and proper granite bluffs — one of those towns that’s just little white houses full of rich people and their psychotic ice chewing kids.”

     “The beaches in New Jersey are disgusting,” Keith said. “You’re ridiculous.”

     “They’re not disgusting!” Lance said. “Not always, at least. I think I could find somewhere nice.”

     “God, sometimes I hate it here,” Keith said, and they both knew he meant Inghram — the classes packed with busywork, the people moving dead eyed in the hallways, the teachers just trying to get to their next class. Everyone with their eyes on the future: what college they wanted, what career they wanted, what life they wanted. It was exhausting, sometimes, to be around so much ambitious energy.

     Lance leaned down and Keith leaned up to meet him — Lance’s hips falling down, Keith’s arms wrapping around his shoulders; this coordinated dance, so effortless now that they really knew each other, now that they understood how the other would react to the slight necessary signals. Lance pushed Keith’s boxers down and he kicked them off — discarded white and blue flag in the sand, his ass pressed against the hot sand.

     “It feels almost unfair, to make you wait the whole time,” Lance said, before moving in to kiss down Keith’s throat, past his collarbones and his navel, and then gently on the inside of his thigh. “But part of me is still a little vindictive,” he said, grazing the head of Keith’s dick with his thumb. “It’s fun to watch your reactions, when you’re like this.”

     “I don’t remember making it this annoying for you,” Keith said, as Lance kissed his tip. “Fuck — can you not take this halfway if you don’t plan on finishing?”

     Lance pulled back, grinning. “What? Maybe I’ll feel merciful.”

     Keith laced his fingers in Lance’s hair and tried not to be too loud — there wasn’t usually anyone up here, especially this late into the night, but he didn’t want yet another story being traded around during class. Eventually it’d get to the administration and he’d have to sit down with the Dean for an awkward conversation about public sex in an academic environment. 

     Lance pulled back again, and Keith sighed with frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

     “I told you, one week, like I had to.”

     “It’s been five days.”

     Lance tapped the underside of Keith’s balls playfully and Keith drew in a sharp breath. “Five is less than seven, bro.”

     Keith sat up and pulled Lance in to kiss him again, and then he pushed him back into the sand — outline of his cock through his white shorts pressed against Keith’s, a slight smile on his face, their hands laced together over Lance’s head. “My turn, then.”

     He loved the way Lance responded — it was nice to know him so well, already: what made him close his eyes, what made him open his mouth ever so slightly, what made him push his hips up against Keith. The white shorts were discarded in the sand now, as was his shirt. When he came it moved through him in a wave: tensing, first, and then the hitched sigh, the sudden warmth on his belly and Keith’s hand. 

     “I sort of get what you mean, now,” Lance said, standing up. “Having to wait two more days for that — forget it.”

     “Fuck you.”

     Lance reached down to pick up his shorts and winked. “I like it when you ask me — I like it because I get to say no, and then watch the needy look on your face.”

     “ _Fuck you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i love attention and say a lot of stupid things that arent in prose form — if you don't mind following me on twitter, my profile is here: https://twitter.com/altarviolence


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